


Here's a good seat, two together

by Ilrona



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: And Finn is of course a sweetheart, Established Relationship, F/M, Poor Rey is feeling awful, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilrona/pseuds/Ilrona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey is sick and feeling quite miserable. Finn, of course, is there to help her get better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's a good seat, two together

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/3961.html?thread=8771193#cmt8771193) at the TFA kink meme.
> 
> Title is from the lyrics of ‘Wake the Hero’ by Barnaby Bright.

The worst thing is not the pain. That isn’t pleasant either, of course. The ever-present ache makes Rey wonder how there’s any remaining space in her chest for her lungs or her heart. She knows that’s not how it works, but sometimes it _feels_ like the pain is devouring everything else. Once it became so intense Rey had to put her palm on her chest to check that she could still feel her heart beat. She sighed in relief when she could feel it, steady and strong despite the illness, and alive. The sigh proved that her lungs were still there as well.

Still, the pain can be, though not completely erased, at least controlled with medicine. Now it’s dull and bearable.

What the medicine can’t do anything against, however, is the horrible sensation of weakness. Her body can’t walk more than a few steps before she has to lean against the wall. She has to sit down onto a stool to wash herself. It feels like her body doesn’t belong to her anymore: like she’s forced into the helpless body of someone else. She used to be able to run so fast, and jump so confidently, and climb so high. She fought against Kylo Ren and won with this body.

The first time Finn visits, he looks awfully worried. The sight warms her heart – another proof that it isn’t yet eaten by the pain in her chest. She likes the idea of someone – and even better that this someone is Finn – being worried about her. She was so worried about Finn too, when he was lying in the snow, unmoving, unconscious, her mind screaming desperately: _What if he dies what if I lose him that can’t happen please don’t let it happen please_.

“I’m not going to die. This illness, though very unpleasant, is really not serious,” Rey reassures him quickly, because though it feels nice to see him so very worried about her, she remembers how much it hurt to be terrified of Finn dying, and she doesn’t want him to feel like that now. “Doctor Kalonia said I will get better in a few days, I just have to stay in bed and eat the medicine and drink lots of water.”

“I know,” Finn nods. His hand finds hers, and he squeezes, gentle but firm. Rey thinks her hand must feel gross, clammy with the illness, but Finn doesn’t seem to be bothered. She squeezes back, though it lacks even the echo of any strength. “I just thought I would check how you are. And I have this fruit for you. It has vitamins that can help you get better sooner.”

“I don’t want to eat anything now,” Rey protests. The very idea of any kind of food makes the contents of her stomach start to climb into her mouth.

Finn hesitates. “Well, you could try just a very tiny little bite? And if it’s too much, you don’t have to eat more. But you have to eat something, even if you don’t want to, otherwise your body will become very weak.”

Rey doubts her body could become weaker than it feels now. Still, she nods, though without any eagerness. Finn shows her the fruit: oval with pale pink rind. She watches his fingers cleverly open it, nails digging into the rind and removing it quickly. Inside, the flesh of the fruit is bright yellow, and some dark green seeds can be seen in it. A few days ago the sight would have made her mouth flood with saliva: after Jakku, where fresh fruit simply doesn't exist, she started to eat every fruit she could get her hands on. She loves how full of wetness they are, the way the juice runs down her fingers, the intense taste, sometimes almost biting into the tender inside of her mouth unused to anything but the most tasteless food.

“Doesn’t it smell wonderful?” Finn asks as he gives her a slice. She raises it to her lips, relieved when her hands, though weak, don’t tremble too much and the slice doesn’t fall onto her lap.

“I don’t know. I can’t smell anything right now.”

She bites into the fruit carefully. It’s – okay. She has to spit out a hard seed, but the taste doesn’t make her want to throw up. It’s a lot less intense than the other fruits – or maybe the illness dulls her taste buds as well, not just her nose. The juiciness feels good. And she needs lots of fluid now.

“You don’t have to eat it all at once,” Finn says. He levitates the rest of the fruit onto the plate on the bedside table with the Force, making her grin. “How are you feeling? Do you want me to stay with you?”

Rey thinks about it. But she realizes she’s feeling a bit sleepy now. Even the shortest interaction with someone else tires her out so quickly now. It’s awfully embarrassing.

“Not now. Later, maybe. You don’t have to be with me all the time, you know.” She appreciates it, of course, but she can deal with this illness on her own.

Finn smiles at her. “All right.”

* * *

She doesn’t cough a lot, but when she does, it’s terrible. It sounds like pebbles rattling in her lungs. It feels like cruel thorns scraping the inside of her lungs. Tears prickle her eyes, but she blinks them away.

She hears the door open, then close. Her body, no longer coughing, is able to turn towards the door, but even before she sees him she knows it’s Finn. Though the illness hampers her connection to the Force too – she wanted to meditate away some of the pain, but the Force slipped out of her grasp again and again until she gave up –, she can still sense Finn’s presence, faint but unmistakable.

She maneuvers her body with some difficulty so that she’s sitting with her back against the many pillows propped up against the headboard.

“I could hear your coughs. How are you feeling? Better?”

Rey shakes her head weakly, but then, not wanting to make Finn worry too much, she quickly adds: “Not worse, either, at least.”

This time, instead of a fruit, Finn holds up a small, flat wooden stick. The fruit looked better, Rey thinks, but she doesn’t say anything out loud, waiting for Finn to explain.

“Do you know what this is?” Finn asks.

“No.”

“Guess!”

Rey frowns. “A utensil? A sex toy?”

Finn glares at her. “Of course it’s not a sex toy! I wouldn’t bring you a sex toy when you’re so sick!”

“I was just joking,” Rey mumbles. Apparently her sense of humor is weakened by the illness as well. “I don’t know, Finn. I have never seen something like this before. What is it?”

Finn understands that she doesn’t have the strength or the patience to continue the guessing game.

“You have to put it into your mouth,” he starts. Well, Rey thinks, that doesn’t rule out either of her guesses. “It’s called a tongue depressor. It's quite old-fashioned, but it works. It makes sure your tongue stays out of the way, and so the doctor can see into your mouth and throat and check how they look.”

Rey grimaces. “That sounds unpleasant.”

“I will be very careful,” Finn promises. Rey knows that, but it still doesn’t make her want that stick poking around in her mouth. But it’s better to get this over with, and so she obediently opens her mouth, rising her chin up.

One of Finn’s hand on her cheek steadies her, and it feels so good, that gentle, lovely, certain hand, cooler than it usually is - she still has a fever, though it was worse yesterday -, that she closes her eyes at the feeling. Then her eyes fly open in alarm when the stick presses down onto her tongue. She gags when it goes deeper. She can hear Finn make a soothing cooing sound, and she remains still. It’s unpleasant, but it doesn’t last that long, luckily. The stick disappears, and with it comes a flood of relief, then Finn’s hand on her cheek leaves as well, which makes her feel a bit disappointed.

“It looks bad,” Finn admits. “But I was expecting it to be worse. Though, actually, I don’t know that much about how it’s supposed to look.”

Rey rolls her eyes, then exclaims in annoyance. “Then why the fuck did you even do it, if you aren’t certain what it should look like?”

This makes her cough again, and she moans in misery. Her upper body feels like it’s set on fire. She can hear, though it sounds somewhat garbled and faint, Finn’s frantic whispering of _I’m sorry, shh, I’m sorry_. She feels his arm around her back, his palm drawing soothing circles. She leans into his embrace until the coughs subside, and then for a little while longer after that.

* * *

When she feels a bit better, or at least more alert, Finn suggests a holodrama. But after the first twenty minutes it feels like her brain is ready to explode: she’s not yet capable of concentrating so intensely – the holodrama had a lot of quick dialogue, characters with unfamiliar accents using political jargon about trade tariffs and the loyalties of the representatives in the Senate.

Finn puts the holodrama away with an understanding smile and takes out instead his datapad. Rey worries he wants to read to her or something, which she wouldn’t be able to focus on either, but instead she hears the first sweet notes of a quite pleasant music, some sort of flute, maybe. It’s simple, nothing fancy and the volume is low – just what she needs. Rey gives him a grateful smile as she snuggles back into the pillows.

They don’t speak: there’s only the music filling the space between and around them now. For now it’s enough.

The purple, cheap-looking curtains – though they are still better than anything she had on Jakku – are drawn back, and she can see trees with beautiful green leaves and yellow and blue flowers. She wishes the window could be opened, but the wind that would barge in wouldn’t be warm and it could make her get worse.

She wouldn’t be able to smell the flowers anyway, her nose still too stuffed. It must look so red and raw after days spent blowing and wiping it what felt like every minute, though she knows that’s impossible. Her hair is getting greasy too: she can bathe, but she doesn’t have the energy to wash and dry all her long hair now, and wet hair would also be something that could make the illness worse. There are so many things she isn't allowed to do now. It almost feels like she can't even breathe without risking having to stay several more days in bed. 

Fuck, she hates this so much. It could be worse, a lot worse, she knows that, but still – this dull waiting to get better, this feeling of incompetence and uselessness added to the physical misery of her ailing body is really no fun at all.

Her eyes move to Finn sitting near her bed, looking at her. She suddenly realizes that certainly there are places where he would be more useful than sitting here doing nothing. Rey will get better on her own with the help of the medicine. Finn can’t pull the illness out of her body. He should be coming up with strategies against the First Order, helping General Organa and the others figure out the next move of the enemy.

“You know, you don’t have to stay with me all day, Finn.”

Finn flinches. “Do you want me to leave? Are you sure you will be fine on your own?”

Well, it’s hard to say a harsh yes to such a question. But suddenly Rey is annoyed, because yes, of course she will be fine on her own. It’s – insulting, quite frankly, to suggest that she’s so weak and frail that she would die the moment Finn left her.

“I was sick on Jakku too, sometimes. And nobody was there to sit near me, and I still survived. I don’t _need_ you, okay?”

For a moment Finn looks like she just slapped him, and Rey’s heart breaks clean in two. Was she too cruel with her words? Oh, she didn’t mean to be!

“I thought that would make you appreciate the company even more,” Finn begins, his voice so terribly unsure, not looking at her. “It makes me sad to think that you didn’t have someone who wanted to take care of you and help you recover before, that you had to suffer alone. I didn’t really have anyone, either, you know, in the First Order. There, they fixed you up quickly in the medbay or gave you a medicine and sent you to deal with whatever illness you had on your own, or if you were absolutely beyond help they got rid of you. But - I’m sorry if I’m annoying you. That really wasn’t my intention. I will leave, if that’s what you want.”

“I appreciate you!” Rey says, suddenly feeling like she wants to weep – and she knows it's not just her stupid illness making her body want to do ridiculous things. “I do, I swear, Finn, I really do. I'm sorry I made you think I don't. Don’t you dare think I’m not happy that you’re here with me!”

Finn smiles at her, and she can feel his relief and joy with the Force, bright and warm. An answering happiness rises up inside her, fills her with a wonderful feeling, pushing away, at least for a moment, the pain inside her chest.


End file.
